Two Against The World
by Kendris
Summary: A prequel of sorts to 'What Matters The Most'. Before Irenicus, before Sarevok, before the brave companions and deadly foes, there were two. Two children of a dead god. Two orphans raised in secrecy. Two lives intertwined. Two sisters whose deeds would shake the Realms.


_**Author's note**__ – I'd been kicking this idea around for a while, and finally dove into it as a way of working my way back to Jess and Im after an extended foray into the world of Mass Effect. It's probably butchering canon, but when I tried to match up the timeline in the BG games with other FR lore, I got a major headache & just decided to do my own thing...as usual._

_My main focus will be alternating between What Matters The Most & my ME fic, Forged In Fire. There will be future installments of this story at irregular intervals, however, and it might eventually meander into events in BG1, but the focus will remain on Jessime and Imoen. _

OOO

"I have grave misgivings about this course of action, old friend."

Gorion gave his companion a sidelong glance. "Your misgivings are duly noted, old friend."

Elminster snorted. "Noted and ignored?"

"Never ignored," Gorion disagreed gravely. The figure in his arms squirmed; he shifted his hold with practiced ease, and the small girl looked at him fearlessly, big hazel eyes bright with curiosity as she reached up to tug at his beard, then laughed, a joyful sound made oddly incongruous by the carnage that they strode through.

The Time of Troubles had ended, but the events of that year still reverberated throughout Faerûn, none more strongly than the race to track down the children that Bhaal had sired in the years before his death. God of murder aside, he'd been an indiscriminate bastard and – unfortunately – a prolific one, as well. Humans, elves, gnomes, halflings and dwarves by the score; orcs and half-orcs by the dozen; goblins, kobolds, ogres, trolls, three centaurs, two gibberlings and an owlbear at the last count, and they'd likely not accounted for a tenth of the number...if that.

Followers of Bhaal had begun to gather the children, sacrificing them by the score in bloody ceremonies designed to return the essences of the dead god to the heavens; when sufficient numbers had been sacrificed, Bhaal would be reborn. The past two years had been the hardest in Gorion's life; as a Harper, killing to preserve the Balance was a brutal but familiar necessity, but killing children...

There was so much they didn't know! It appeared that the ceremonies used in the sacrifices were key, but they couldn't be sure, couldn't risk letting the Bhaalspawn mature...and so they killed infants, toddlers, adolescents, using daggers blessed by Oghma and other benign deities to dissipate the Bhaalspawn essence, preventing it from returning to its source. The faces had blurred through sheer numbers, but he could still remember their eyes: some had been wild, others frightened, still others innocent and unsuspecting. They did their best to make it quick, merciful, but it was still a task that haunted even the most jaded of their number. At the same time, scrying made it clear that they stood no chance of finding even a fraction of the Bhaalspawn, and no one could say what would happen as the children that survived grew to adulthood.

A year ago, a plan had been decided upon: the efforts at eradication would continue, but one Bhaalspawn child would be spared and raised under close supervision, its development observed. It was felt that a female might prove less susceptible to the violence of the taint, and after the disruption of another ceremony, a single girl was given into his care.

"Raising a single Bhaalspawn is a daunting task," Elminster cautioned him. "Why would you consider taking on a second?"

"Candlekeep is not exactly overflowing with children," Gorion reminded him. "Jessime will need to learn social interactions with others of her age. And a single Bhaalspawn is hardly sufficient to form any conclusions as to what effects maturity will have on the breed as a whole."

"Two hardly increases the pool of knowledge," the other Harper retorted, "and having two in such close proximity could prove disastrous."

"Jess has shown no sign of the taint's influence thus far."

"She's four, at most," Elminster observed wryly. "Even the older children we have dealt with have shown no overt signs of their heritage."

"Dealt with?" Gorion turned his head to regard the sage, his expression grim. "Old friend, in this task, of all that we have done in the name of Balance, let there be no hiding behind euphemisms. We have killed children whose only crime was in their existence...children who might well have never posed any threat at all."

"Aye," Elminster conceded with a weary nod, "but it is a chance that we dare not take. I've been avoiding mirrors myself of late." He gave his companion a knowing look. "That's what this is really about, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," Gorion admitted, smiling down at the chubby toddler in his arms, who returned the smile with a sunny one of her own. The frightened ones had pierced his conscience too many times to count, but it was the happy ones that haunted him the most: the ones that smiled and clung trustingly to their executioners, their expressions only occasionally shifting to puzzled surprise and betrayal as the blessed blade found their heart. Most died still smiling up at him.

This girl had the sunniest disposition of any that he could recall: she'd cowered with fear beside the altar as the Harpers had fought with Bhaal's followers, blood mixing with dirt and straw on the ground, joining with that running down the altar from the half dozen sacrifices that had been completed. Her tears had dried as soon as Gorion had lifted her from the floor, her tremulous smile broadening into an artless grin as chubby fingers toyed with the beads of his necklace, tugging at the icon of Oghma. He'd tickled her, distracting himself as the others began killing the few children that remained – all of them thankfully young enough not to understand what was happening, but her delighted giggles had wound their way into his heart, and when Elminster had approached, he had turned away.

"Candlekeep is secure," he said now. "The residents there know more about Alaundo's prophesies than any other group in existence, and there is no shortage of magical ability. If either of them begin to show signs of Bhaal's influence, or if raising them together potentiates the effects of the taint, it can be detected early and dealt with."

"But will you see it?" Elminster wanted to know, not unkindly. "You've already grown attached to the first one -"

"Her name is Jessime," Gorion reminded him firmly.

"We cannot all afford to give them names and bond with them," the other sage replied irritably. "This wee sprout has you wrapped around her finger, as well." The look that he gave the child was one of resigned affection, proving that he was no more immune to her charms, if more determined to resist. "Distance must be maintained, neutrality preserved."

"If the influence of Bhaal is to be countered, it will not be with distance," Gorion retorted. "Evil cannot be countered with indifference. They must be shown love and compassion if such traits are to have a chance to take root and grow in tainted soil."

"I am not disputing that," Elminster answered, calmer now, "only that the rest of us must balance your love and compassion with a distance that will allow us to maintain a level of objectivity and – should it become necessary to kill either or both of them – do what we would not ask of you."

Gorion relaxed and nodded, hearing the permission implicit in the words. He knew the grim realities of the situation they faced, but today, at least, he had balanced the death he had caused with a life preserved.

"This is the last one, old friend," Elminster cautioned him, "and the last of the field work you'll be assigned. Raising two small girls is not a part time occupation...particularly these two."

Gorion nodded again, not bothering to hide his relief, knowing that his comrades had seen his growing disquiet over their seemingly endless task, knowing that the reason given was not the entire reason...or likely even the greatest reason. The greater good was a harsh taskmistress, demanding much of her servants, offering few rewards and even fewer respites. Jaheira and Khalid had been fortunate to find each other, even more fortunate in forming an effective team. If the children in question were not Bhaalspawn, the Harpers would not hesitate to call upon his skills.

"I should go," he said, glancing back toward the dilapidated barn that had housed the improvised temple of sacrifice. There were some among the Harpers who did not flinch from their grim task, and not all of those had been in favor of sparing even one child. Though he doubted that any would openly challenge Elminster's assent, much less attack a fellow Harper, he had no desire to flaunt the existence of a second.

Elminster nodded. "Go in peace, my friend, and know that you will not be alone in watching over them."

OOO

The return to Candlekeep took four days; despite his new charge, he made better time than he had in leaving, eager to return to Jess. He'd not been so long away from her before, and he remembered well how she had grieved when Jaheira and Khalid had left, sulking by the gates with mournfully searching eyes for days on end. She got on well enough with Phlydia, but -

"Welcome back, Master Gorion, ser!" Fuller called from atop the battlements as the gate rose to admit him.

"Good to be back, Fuller," Gorion replied. Despite the serious nature of his task, he found that he had enjoyed settling down in the scholarly redoubt, with the most impressive library in the Realms at his fingertips.

"Found another one?" the guard inquired, peering down at his armful.

"Hi!" the tyke called up with a wide grin. She'd found her voice before they'd been two hours on the road, and since then had only been quiet when asleep, though few of her words were intelligible.

"Hi, yourself," Fuller replied with an easy smile, stepping from the ledge and dropping into a haystack by the wall, earning a delighted crow from his pint-sized audience.

"Me do!" she declared, waving her arms wildly.

"Gonna have to grow a bit first, little bit," Fuller told her, ruffling her hair and giving Gorion a questioning look.

"Her family was killed by orcs outside of Beregost," he lied easily. "The priests there were going to send her to an orphanage in Baldur's Gate, but I thought that Jess would benefit from having a playmate." Only a few in Candlekeep knew of Jess' true lineage, and his task; to the rest, he was an aging scholar raising an orphaned child in fulfillment of a deathbed oath to the child's mother.

"Not a bad notion," Fuller agreed, "though it's likely to be interesting the first time she sees -"

"Papa!" Jess came charging down the cobblestoned walk as fast as her chubby, three-year-old's legs could carry her, with Phlydia in exasperated pursuit. Smiling, Gorion crouched and opened his free arm wide, but ten feet away, Jess finally took notice of the newcomer and skidded to a stop, eyes wide and startled.

"This is Imoen," Gorion told her carefully, setting the younger girl's feet on the ground, but keeping a supporting hand at her waist. "Imoen, this is Jessime."

"Jess-mee!" Imoen echoed with a wide grin, pulling against the restraint of his hand, utterly delighted by the arrival of a playmate. Jess stared at her in consternation, then green eyes shifted to Gorion, a faintly accusing scowl on her face. Before he could speak, Imoen slipped free from his light touch, careening forward on unsteady legs, arms cartwheeling in an unsuccessful bid for balance. Jess reached out almost instinctively as the smaller child started to fall forward, but she was none too steady on her feet herself, and Imoen tumbled to the ground in a heap, knocking Jessime squarely onto her rump.

_Oh, gods._ Gorion pulled himself upright and started forward, aware of Phlydia closing in from the other direction as thunderclouds began to gather on Jessime's face. Her displays of temper were even rarer than her smiles, but when she did let loose, her lungs could rattle every window in the keep.

Then Imoen began to laugh.

The sound rose high and clear and joyful into the stillness of the morning air, much less out of place here than it had been in the aftermath of a slaughter. She pushed herself into a sitting position, beaming at Jess as if the entire spill had been staged for her entertainment.

"Jess-mee!" she crowed again, still laughing, and then a small miracle occurred. Slowly, the thunderclouds faded as Jess regarded the newcomer with bewilderment.

Then, slowly, almost uncertainly, Jessime smiled.

OOO

"Imoen." Jess sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the sleeping toddler, tiny brow creased in thought. A second bed had been brought up amidst much grumbling and predictions of doom from Ulraunt, but his promises of mayhem had gone unfulfilled as Jess allowed Imoen to drag her here and there, pointing and asking about everything. There had been no shortage of baffled glances directed at Gorion from his daughter, but the enthusiastic little sprite's incessant curiosity had managed to drag more words from Jessime in a single afternoon than was generally heard from her in a week. As she had the previous three evenings, Imoen had fallen asleep almost between one babbling word and the next, and slept like a stone, never stirring as Gorion carried her to the room adjacent to his own that had served as a nursery since he and Jess had arrived.

"Yes," he confirmed to her now, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Her name is Imoen. She's to be your sister, if you are both willing." He had never used baby talk with her; he wondered if that was why she spoke as she did: her words seldom uttered but carefully and correctly formed. She'd long since proven wrong those who had suspected that her slowness to speak marked her as dull witted.

"Mine?" She looked up at him questioningly, the back to Imoen, reaching out carefully to touch her outstretched hand. Imoen murmured in her sleep, fingers curling around Jess'. Gorion watched, feeling his heart melt as the face of his fierce, silent daughter settled into lines of resolve.

"Mine," she declared firmly, crawling onto the bed and laying down beside Imoen, the younger girl's hand still holding onto hers. Gorion drew the blankets up over them both, bent to kiss one tousled head, then the other, extinguished the candle beside the bed and went to seek his own rest, well pleased with the day's events.


End file.
